Kennedy sat in the alley, the hunger beat through him, pounded like a drum, causing tremor after tremor to run through him as he forced himself to stay put in the dark corner of the alley. The urge to feed whispered to him like a siren, tempting him to the pedestrians, to the sound of their hearts and the rush of blood just beneath the surface of their warm skin. He whimpered, fists clenching as he felt his canines lengthen. He didn’t want this, didn’t know what he had done to deserve this curse. He remembered the attack, the feel of being hit from behind, the fingers bunching in his hair and wrenching his head back, the sharp pain blossoming at his throat. No one had cared for the strangled cries of one young man, no one had come to save him as he slipped into the terrifying abyss of nothingness. Then he had woke face down, cold cement beneath his cheek, rain soaking into his clothes, the taste of blood on his tongue.